The marble lid of the sarcophagus was sculpted to resemble the grand patriarch of the family; in effigy Sebastian lay with his hands folded over his chest, the long flowing robe of a magician almost real due to the energy of the artist’s creation. But as Mark watched, a caped figure, with a golden face mask, stepped forward carrying a burden—a woman. She was blonde, and she wore a white halter dress. With her hair falling around her, it was impossible to tell whether she was unconscious...or dead.
Her fingers twitched. So, she wasn’t dead, Mark thought.
Yet.
No sign of Brodie, but the chanting in the tomb was growing louder. Friends in the Otherworld of the Los Angeles area had warned them that they’d been hearing tales about the old Hildegard tomb. There was a cult growing up around the famous magician, a belief that blood sacrifices made on the altar of his sarcophagus would bring him back to life, and bring stardom, power and glory to those who worshipped at his feet.
Bull!
A dead shapeshifter was a dead shapeshifter.
But that didn’t mean there weren’t those out there who were willing to believe.
The woman was draped over the marble effigy of Sebastian Hildegard.
He feared they were out of time.
The gate was locked. No matter. It was old and easy to force. The iron hinges must have been kept well-oiled, because they didn’t even squeak until he was in, and once there, he was ready.
“LAPD! Stop where you are!” he ordered.
Someone let out a shriek of fury. A flutter of cloth and shadow erupted in the room; the woman was left behind as figures began to scramble and torches fell.
“There are silver bullets in this gun,” Mark warned. “Stop!”
That wouldn’t mean a lot to a number of those here, but to some—the Others in the group—it would be fair warning.
Something flew at him. It was a caped skeletal figure with a monstrous face, screaming as it moved. He raised his customized gun, aimed and fired just as it reached him. The thing disappeared, and his bullet crashed into the concrete slab of a tomb in the wall.
One figure tried to race past him, a human. He went down in a whining sprawl as Mark casually punched him, and then Mark cuffed him quickly before tackling another. The place was in chaos. Mist filled the room, and a horde of hooded figures and insubstantial shadows came at Mark, screeching incoherently. In the background, he could hear humans screaming and crying, followed by the sounds of Brodie intercepting those who tried to escape by the main entrance.
The fog began to clear. He met up with Brodie, and they looked around. Five humans—three men and two women—lay cuffed on the ground. The Others had gone, vanished, disappeared into thin air.
Or the mists of illusion.
“Maybe one of them will talk—tell us something we can use,” Brodie said. Even he was breathing hard.
“Maybe,” Mark agreed. But they both knew they had failed. Whoever was at the head of this mess wasn’t one of the human beings lying cuffed on the floor and waiting to be taken to the station.
But the head of this particular operation was a shapeshifter. And they had missed him.
Or her.
“The woman... She can’t be dead.... They needed her alive,” Mark said, stepping over a cuffed man to reach the tomb of Sebastian Hildegard.
He lifted her carefully. Blond hair fell around her shoulders, revealing her face.
He nearly froze.
He’d already seen her tonight.
He’d never seen her in the flesh before, but...
She had been the woman in his daydream, the bride at his blood wedding....
“Alive?” Brodie asked him anxiously.
Her eyes opened, and she stared at Mark. They were sea-green and beautiful, and she looked disoriented.
Then she screamed and began to fight him, and she was damned good at it, belting him in the jaw and raking her nails across his face in fury. She stood on her own now; she seemed to have the strength of a thousand demons.
“Hey!”
Brodie came to his aid, catching her arms. “We’re the cops! We’re here to save you.”
As Brodie spoke, they heard sirens in the night; his call for the bus, to haul those they had caught to lockup, was being answered.
The young woman blinked. She inhaled, staring at Mark. He realized suddenly that she wasn’t human; she was Other. She was Elven.
Brodie whispered, “My God— Elven,” just as Mark thought it. But then, to Mark’s amazement, Brodie added a name. “Alessande Salisbrooke!”
Maybe it was natural that Brodie knew her; he was Elven, too.
She spun and looked at Brodie, and let out a sigh of relief. “Brodie. I didn’t realize—”
She stopped midsentence and stared at Mark, heat and anger emanating from her. “Vampire,” she said. “And you’re a cop?”
“Yeah, I’m a cop,” he said. She studied him as if he’d done something wrong, or as if his being a vampire was anathema to her. He felt his temper rising. “Yes, I am a vampire,” he said angrily. “I’m the vampire who just saved your ass.” He was shaken. He didn’t usually strike out because a panicked victim fought him.
But...
He’d seen her in his vision. Seen her with a ribbon of blood coming from her throat...
At a wedding.
Their wedding.
That was certainly never going to happen.
“Saved me?” she exclaimed. “Vampire idiot. You ruined everything.”
Chapter 1
“Seriously,” Sailor Gryffald said, “what were you thinking, Alessande?” Sailor continued to pace while Alessande sat.
After a stop at the police station, Brodie and Mark had dropped Alessande off with Sailor and had gone straight to Pandora’s Box, since Brodie had been anxious to see Rhiannon, the canyon’s vampire Keeper—and his fiancée. Alessande was glad to be alone with Sailor and free to talk.
Sailor continued, “Those monsters were about to sacrifice you. Believe me, you helped save my life, so I know how competent you are, but no one knows what kind of evil you were really up against, if I understand what you’re saying correctly.”
Alessande winced. She really shouldn’t have been so angry with that vampire cop—after all, he had been trying to save her. But, in her own opinion, she had been prepared. Ready. And she was suspicious of vampires and...
No, she shouldn’t have snapped at him.
“I had to be taken captive,” Alessande explained wearily. “It was the only way for me to get in there and find out what’s going on, who’s behind the cult and the deaths.” There was more to her logic—and her desperation to get at the truth—but at this moment she wasn’t ready to completely explain herself, not even to Sailor Ann Gryffald.
“But...you’re Elven,” Sailor said sternly. In the world of the Others, Sailor was the Keeper of the Elven community in the L.A. Valley. “You’re an ancient!”
No one liked to be reminded of her age, Alessande thought, arching a brow at Sailor.
“Sorry,” Sailor said. She and her two Gryffald cousins—Rhiannon and Barrie—were new to the Keeper job, but all three had already been tested under fire. Alessande knew that because she’d been involved with helping Sailor find her way.
They’d met when Alessande had carried Sailor into her home after Sailor had been attacked during the recent so-called Celebrity Virus plague.
“Seriously,” Sailor went on. I can’t tell you how proud I am of so many in the Elven community, but we’re not considered the...the toughest of the Others. Alessande, you create potions, you’re a healer. You live alone.... You’re practically a hermit.”